You want to know the absolute worst thing about being a princess? No, it is not the numerous parties and fundraisers that I have to attend on behalf of my nationality. They are surprisingly fun. I get to meet other princesses and royals and get to discuss important issues like our state economies and Princess Beatrice’s headdresses.

It is not the lack of privacy. I was born to my country and as a true servant of the nation, I absolutely must be in the public eye. It is hardly a thing to detest actually. I get to fashion all my new designer clothes and get top expert critique in all the major monthlies. Well, not so much critique as appreciation. They can hardly critique ME. Even if I was to wear articles of clothing which were subpar (and let me assure, that will NEVER happen), I’m the princess. They can’t do anything about it.

It is also not the fact that I’m tailed by four strong and muscular men at all times. The newspapers call them my bodyguards but I call them my goalkeepers. Keepers, for short. Why keepers, you ask? Well they treat me like a goal. They don’t let anything by. Literally. Two of them are aurors while the other two are muggles. I guess that’s what you get when you are a muggle royalty AND a witch. Basically, I don’t mind their presence in my life. They do my bidding and are remunerated for it. They take pictures of me when asked (I need them to update my BBM photo). They complement me whenever I look particularly fetching. They keep the gentry at bay. I would be lost without them (quite literally. My sense of direction isn’t much to go by.)

So what IS it, which makes being a witch princess the most awful thing ever?

It is loneliness. Yup, it’s as pathetic as that. I mean, the keepers can be great fun whenever we play fashion show (they play the judges. The Duchess of York and I model the clothes. I win every time. It’s a big deal. We call the reporters and have the castle maids dress up as celebrities). They used to give me piggyback rides when I was younger which I remember as vaguely fun. But they aren’t real company. The Duchess of York is a real B. She stopped coming over after I won the fashion show for the 17th time. She was always jealous of me, you know. At last week's fundraiser she completely ignored me and spent the whole evening chatting up the young prince Farooq El Abar of the UAE. Who, I must say, completely ignored her and spent the entire evening eyeing ME. The other royals are the same. The boys just care about polo and croquet and are way to immature to be really considered for courting. The girls are way too jealous to actually befriend me. Of course, they are respectful and kind on the outside. They have to be for I am the second in line to the throne. But I don’t have real friend like in all those novels and movies. I just have my keepers and these sycophants.

I have a brother. He is elder to me and the first in line to the throne. He is just like our father. His name is Frederick. But we call him Fred. He is quite famous in the magazines too. Well, he has to be. We share a stylist. He doesn’t attend quite as many parties as I do, of course. He is in university so he doesn’t have the time. He goes to pubs. I know its humiliating. He mingles with the public. I have been to the Leaky Cauldron once (my magical tutor took me. She said it was necessary for me to see what the wizarding world actually looks like. I don’t care what it looks like. I’m a muggle royal. Muggle royals don’t NEED anything. They just WANT everything.) and let me tell you, it was frightening. Nobody seemed to have taken a bath in there. I mean sure we are witches and wizards but that does not mean we have to live upto the stereotype.

My tutor thinks I ignore my wizarding heritage. She is right. I do. I’d rather be a muggle. Sure I’ve been to that god awful market thing (horizontal alley?) and got my wand and all.

Professor Weasley even taught me how to use it. We have been having lessons for almost seven years now, ever since I was eleven. I had to be home tutored of course. I had appearances to keep in the muggle world and couldn’t just disappear to magical French schools (beauxbatons, I think it was called. It looked lovely in the brochure).

Well to say that my parents were shocked to find that I’m a witch is an understatement. But shocked was all they were. My father knew about the wizarding world and was quite alright with it. Mother was okay too after she was reassured that no warts or facial hair will sprout on my person after what she called my ‘initiation’ into witchcraft.

So yes, I’m a muggleborn. Just like Professor Weasley.

I usually like Professor Weasley. She is a bit too bookish (just ask the palace librarian) and has no sense of style, whatsoever. But I used to enjoy our classes nevertheless.

Why? Well, Professor Weasley used me. No, she didn’t use my royal status to get into an exclusive fashion event meant only for those invited unlike some duchess I know (*cough* York *cough*). No she didn’t sleep with one of my keepers like my old muggle tutor (yes, I have two teachers, one magical and the other muggle. I need know both.).

She did something worse. I told her my secret and she used it against me. She told my father.

Its fathers fault too you know. He shouldn’t be listening to her like that. He shouldn’t have even given her counsel. Isn’t he supposed to be busy? I mean, wasting time on my magical teacher when he could be making new laws and saving lives and what not? Where are your priorities, Father?

But he did listen to her and now I’m stuck.

I told Professor Weasley about the loneliness. I told her about my boredom with the muggle world. But that did not mean that I wanted to go to the wizarding world! How could she tell my father that I was missing out on an important aspect of my life!

IM A PRINCESS. THAT IS MY LIFE.

Not among the wizards and witches. Sure, I knew everything they knew. I’ve read Fifi LaFolle and know all about the dashing wizards and their flourishing robes. I know the wizarding history. Well, some of it. It was terribly boring and Professor Weasley was always as ready as me to skip it. In fact, we’d not had a history lesson for four years now. I knew the basic curses and charms. I knew a few potions. Overall, I am a decent enough witch considering I am more muggle anyway. I even have a cauldron and last Halloween I dressed up as a white witch (well I couldn’t wear a black gown. A black gown on a young lady is blasphemous. And I wasn’t just any young lady. I was a princess.).

So why did Professor Weasley feel the urge to force (She forced a royal. Can the royal guard finally be useful and banish her?) my father into agreeing with her crazy, wacky, completely psychotic plan?

What plan, you ask?

Well, she has somehow (I think she used an imperious curse. Illegally. I’m currently in the process of writing a letter to the ministry. My auror keeper will deliver it. He pinky swore.) convinced my father to allow me to spend the summer with her.

In her house. In a CIVILIAN house. With her family.

I had plans for the summer. I was supposed to be going to Monte Carlo for Princess Angelique of Monaco’s wedding shower next week. And after that I was to go to the UAE to formally pursue the foxy Farooq El Abar before a certain duchess. And now I can’t.

Because, I quote, I need to learn and experience the wizarding world that exists beyond the books which are incomplete windows to the reality.

And I need to learn this by spending the summer at the Weasley residence. With my TEACHER. I mean, she has children. Ill be in a house full of little children.

Oh my god, will I have to do chores?

I can’t do chores! And what about my muggle keepers! They wouldn’t be able to come and ill surely be attacked by a werewolf or a vampire. Or those dreadfully ugly house-elves Professor Weasley loves so much. And then Ill die.

I need to find a way out of this. Fred would have helped if he hadn’t gone away to someplace in Africa on a state visit with mother. The telephone signal is so poor and I barely have enough time. Professor Weasley comes to pick me up tomorrow. All my bags must be packed by now. My auror keepers are strangely supportive of this new scheme to have me killed. They promised me that they’ll protect me from the werewolves but I don’t believe them. I’ve always had FOUR keepers. How am I supposed to manage with two? They didn’t even keep guns! Just wands! How completely useless!

Okay, Elizabeth. Calm down. You are a princess. You are a very smart and fetching princess. You’ll find a way out of it.